Sir
by Pachamama9
Summary: Harry tries to run from Uncle Vernon's punishment after he steals something. One-shot.


**A/N: Harry runs from his uncle's punishment.**

 **If You Dare Challenge - #559 (Forbidden fruit)**

 **Are You Crazy Enough To Do It Challenge - #726 (run towards something/someone)**

 **Character Diversity Boot Camp - #3 (push), Harry Potter**

 **Your Favorite House Boot Camp - #6 (easy), Gryffindor**

 **Character Trait Boot Camp - #11 (timid), Harry Potter**

 **Board Game Challenge - #82 (Write about being questioned.)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Praise Queen Rowling.**

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Harry didn't think he'd ever run so fast in his entire life. "Potter!" came his Aunt Petunia's familiar screech. Harry did not know what had given him this insane idea that he could outrun his punishment, but he'd already dug himself this deep, so... He flung the door open and slammed it closed in his aunt's face, trying to extend his lead.

"What do you think you're—" growled Uncle Vernon, who had been lounging out in the front yard trying to get a tan. Harry laughed in his mind at the thought. Harry ducked under his large, outstretched arms, jumped over his lawn chair, and sprinted across the street. Maybe he could run away from all of this... It seemed so easy. Maybe he could escape from the Dursleys forever...

His dream was crushed when he ran into something that felt like a brick wall. It turned out to be his cousin, Dudley. "Where do you think you're going, runt?" he sneered. Harry tried to keep moving, but Dudley already had him by the back of his oversized shirt.

"Let—me—go!" he managed. His feet were off of the ground now, and he was no longer treading on the ground, but on air. One of his legs swung and hit his burly cousin's stomach, and, his fury matching that of a bear, he punched Harry in his. "You think you can fight me, Potter? Do you?"

"No," Harry groaned, clutching his torso. He heard Dudley's friends cackle with laughter; the loudest of all was that tall kid, Piers. Harry hated him.

Before Dudley could hit him again, his bone-thin, pink sundress-clad aunt was there, ordering Dudley to put him down. "You idiot boy!" she screeched right as Harry was about to thank her for being so caring (for once) as to help him escape Dudley's wrath, and slapped him so hard that he was on the ground. She then grabbed a fistful of his hair and began dragging him back towards the house. "Ow—ow!" he cried, trying to pull her long fingers out of his inky mass of hair. His eyes burned with tears, and soon enough they were rushing down his cheeks, the pain in his scalp white-hot. "Ow! Aunt Petunia, let go—let go!"

He pleaded and begged with her until she brought him back to the front yard and threw him at her husband's feet. "This boy," she spat, pushing his head down, "tried to run from us today, did you know?"

Uncle Vernon's angry stare was too much for Harry to handle. He burst into tears again. "I'm s-s-sorry! I j-j-just—I thought—I thought you'd b-be m-m-mad!"

His uncle ignored his sobs and turned to his wife. "What'd he do this time?"

"I caught him stealing from the pantry, Vernon!" Harry silently regretted this decision. It was a mistake. He hadn't meant to make them angry. He'd just wanted—

Uncle Vernon turned on him and Harry trembled in fear.

"You little thief!" shrieked Aunt Petunia as Uncle Vernon held him by the scruff of his shirt. She was going through his cupboard now, as he screamed and cried. "What else have you taken from us, boy?" She pulled out his pillow, his blanket, his toy horses (the only toy that the Dursleys had ever gotten for him)—

"Those are—those are mine!" Harry screamed, trying to escape Uncle Vernon's grip and reaching for his things. "That's m-m-mine! Don't t-touch—"

Aunt Petunia struck his outstretched arm with whatever she was holding at the time; it happened to be a loose piece of wood that she pulled it to discover Harry's more personal things. It hurt a lot when she hit him with it, but he didn't care that much. He was used to the pain; he agonized over the fact that she was going through his stuff. "This is not yours!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "This" —she shook a book at him and then shoved it into his chest— "is not yours! None of this belongs to you, Potter!"

She grabbed his head, one hand on his unruly hair and the other under his chin— "Ow, ow!" —and forced it towards the door. Uncle Vernon released him and adjusted his tie with a furious swipe.

"Who payed for this house, Potter? Who?"

His defiance melted into timidity in a second. "Y-y-you did."

"Who owns that car in the driveway, Potter?"

"Y-you d-do."

"Who owns every single item in this house, Potter?"

"Y-you do."

"Who owns you, Potter?"

His answer was as familiar as the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. "You do."

"That's right. And we own this" —she threw something at him; a toothbrush, he thought— "and this" —this time, a pair of scissors she had used to try to chop all of his hair off; it scraped a rather large cut into his arm after she launched it at him— "and this and this and—" Then she discovered the first one of many things that resulted in well-earned punishment. "What is this?" she growled, thrusting it into his face.

Harry couldn't seem to stop crying. It was one of Dudley's toys, just a ratty, tan stuffed animal with torn tail. It was a cat or a fox; he had never been too sure. "I-I-I—it's j-just a-a—"

"This does not belong to you, does it, boy?" roared Uncle Vernon.

"N-n-no, s-sir, b-b-but—"

Harry's uncle hit him hard on the side of the head, letting his shirt go so that he fell onto the floor before his cupboard door. "Who does it belong to, boy?"

"D-D-Dudley."

Uncle Vernon's face was red with anger. "You took it from him, didn't you, boy?"

"He—he didn't miss it, he threw it away—"

"It doesn't matter what he did with it, boy! It isn't yours, is it?"

Harry flinched. Uncle Vernon was a large, scary man, and when he got angry he was even scarier. "N-n-n-no, sir," he squeaked.

Uncle Vernon hit him again. "You! Don't! Take! What's! Not! Yours!" he roars, striking his nephew with every word. He grabbed Harry by the hair, his index finger pressing against his lightning-shaped scar. Harry's feet dragged unwillingly against the floor; he tried to gain traction to stop himself from moving, but Uncle Vernon held fast. "What did you steal today, boy?" he growled. "What did you take from us? Huh?"

He shook Harry and his scalp seared with pain. "Uncle, stop!" he cried. "Uncle—ow—you're—"

"What did you take, Harry?"

"J-j-just some crackers, that's all, sir—you'd never miss—"

"Boy, what was your punishment from a week ago?"

"S-st-stay in my cupboard and not—not eat, sir, b-b-but—"

"No buts, boy! What was your punishment?"

"To st-stay in my cupboard and n-not—not eat, Unc—sir."

"And what did you do?"

"I took" —Harry hiccuped— "some crackers—from the pantry, the pantry, but I—"

"But nothing, boy—"

"But I was so hungry!"

Uncle Vernon hit him so hard he saw stars. "Don't you talk to me that way, boy! Petunia and I taught you better than that, you ungrateful thief!"

Harry felt so guilty for what he had done. He had just been so hungry... So weak. So nauseous. Just a cracker or two and he'd have been satisfied. But—

"Don't you ever steal from us again, do you understand me?"

"Y-yes, sir."

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